Fic: Tastings
Title: Tastings
Author/Artist: megkips
Character(s) or Pairing(s): Gilbert
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None
Summary: A soul wine tasting. Gilbert attends.
Gilbert sniffs the glass carefully, savouring the scent of the wine. It smells of the woods at night - dank, dark and foreboding - mixed with the faintest hint of black berries and pure, unadulterated fear. He smiles a little at glass, then turns his attention away from it. Wrath says something to him about a job well done and smiles at him. Gilbert laughs in return, informing the sin that he had almost forgot that Alfred F. Jones even existed. After all, it’s been one hundred years in the making, and much changes in a short amount of time.
The sin departs and makes his way around to others at the tasting, leaving Gilbert to stare back at his glass. The liquid is a deep, dark red, with white streaks swirling in it - residue of the soul. It’s an unorthodox brewing method, but Gilbert imagines that it’s there simply for show rather than flavour.
His concentration is interrupted again by the master brewer, thanking the small amount of people in the wine cellar for attending the tasting. He speaks of the process in general terms, then mentions the specific notes that makes this vintage so special. Once he finishes, he takes a sip of the wine, signaling everyone else to do the same.
Vintage of Alfred F. Jones screams as Gilbert lifts it to his mouth - it begs for mercy and tries to reassert itself. His name is Alfred F. Jones. He is from America. His mother was named Annie and he had a brother named Matthew. He worked for an organization that killed demons. He will not be reduced to food. No. No no no nonono.
The first note is sharp in Gilbert’s mouth - almost too metallic, but it serves it’s purpose well enough. That’s the wrath of the boy - bitter and crazed. But the sharpness subsides quickly into something more complex. The simplicity of greed with it’s mild acidity and faint hint of berries mixes gloriously with the complex notes of pride. Lightness follows for a moment after - gluttony to be certain - and for a moment a note of sweet apple rings out amongst the sharp, bitter taste of the soul. Gilbert swallows, and what lingers still is a dry, bittersweet soul. He pauses to consider it for a moment. It is good, but then again, there are plenty of souls like this out there. Alfred F. Jones is nothing special.
He lingers for the rest of the tasting, talking to his boss about one thing or another, but he never goes back for a second glass. It does not stop him though from accepting the small bottle of the wine from the winemaker when he leaves though. After all, Arthur Kirkland might enjoy the taste in due time.
Author/Artist: megkips
Character(s) or Pairing(s): Gilbert
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None
Summary: A soul wine tasting. Gilbert attends.
Gilbert sniffs the glass carefully, savouring the scent of the wine. It smells of the woods at night - dank, dark and foreboding - mixed with the faintest hint of black berries and pure, unadulterated fear. He smiles a little at glass, then turns his attention away from it. Wrath says something to him about a job well done and smiles at him. Gilbert laughs in return, informing the sin that he had almost forgot that Alfred F. Jones even existed. After all, it’s been one hundred years in the making, and much changes in a short amount of time.
The sin departs and makes his way around to others at the tasting, leaving Gilbert to stare back at his glass. The liquid is a deep, dark red, with white streaks swirling in it - residue of the soul. It’s an unorthodox brewing method, but Gilbert imagines that it’s there simply for show rather than flavour.
His concentration is interrupted again by the master brewer, thanking the small amount of people in the wine cellar for attending the tasting. He speaks of the process in general terms, then mentions the specific notes that makes this vintage so special. Once he finishes, he takes a sip of the wine, signaling everyone else to do the same.
Vintage of Alfred F. Jones screams as Gilbert lifts it to his mouth - it begs for mercy and tries to reassert itself. His name is Alfred F. Jones. He is from America. His mother was named Annie and he had a brother named Matthew. He worked for an organization that killed demons. He will not be reduced to food. No. No no no nonono.
The first note is sharp in Gilbert’s mouth - almost too metallic, but it serves it’s purpose well enough. That’s the wrath of the boy - bitter and crazed. But the sharpness subsides quickly into something more complex. The simplicity of greed with it’s mild acidity and faint hint of berries mixes gloriously with the complex notes of pride. Lightness follows for a moment after - gluttony to be certain - and for a moment a note of sweet apple rings out amongst the sharp, bitter taste of the soul. Gilbert swallows, and what lingers still is a dry, bittersweet soul. He pauses to consider it for a moment. It is good, but then again, there are plenty of souls like this out there. Alfred F. Jones is nothing special.
He lingers for the rest of the tasting, talking to his boss about one thing or another, but he never goes back for a second glass. It does not stop him though from accepting the small bottle of the wine from the winemaker when he leaves though. After all, Arthur Kirkland might enjoy the taste in due time.